


Stupid, Beautiful, Naïve Human beings

by smutduck (sharkduck)



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Broadcasted Thoughts, Emotional Whiplash: The Fic, Explicit Sexual Content, Fallen Hero spoilers, Gen, Marriage Proposal, Other, Retribution Spoilers, gender neutral sidestep - Freeform, stick a fork in me im tender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 07:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19883701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkduck/pseuds/smutduck
Summary: Love is a strange thing, isn't it?





	Stupid, Beautiful, Naïve Human beings

You gently undo the buttons on his shirt, careful not to pop any because it’s a rental and the stupid thing is _too damn tight_ over Steel’s barrel chest, and you almost laugh. Almost. Except this isn’t a laughing sort of thing. You have to concentrate on not thinking about all the ways this is wrong.

You spend most of your brain power being delicate around that mother of pearl inlay and directing your stream of consciousness towards more pleasant thoughts.

The way Chen smiles indulgently at you. The way his hands come to rest gently on your hips. His thumb rubbing a slow, methodical circle into your side. That’s nice. That’s _really_ nice.

You finally ( _finally_ ) get the shirt off, and Steel’s undershirt is also a little too tight on him, but he doesn’t need help with that – he’d probably like to keep it on, actually, and you step back. Or at least try to; his hands don’t leave your hips, and when you try to give him space he pulls you closer and wraps his arms fully around your waist, burying his face into your shoulder. Plants a kiss there.

Your traitor hands come up to run through Chen’s brutally short hair, going gray at the temples. Echoes of thoughts, faint and quiet and quick. _This is nice_ and _I needed this_ and _you smell good._

He probably knows you’re skimming, because they’re loud for Chen, and a part of you is tickled pink that he’s actually broadcasting his thoughts and another part of you is terrified because you don’t know what it means.

_I want to kiss you._

You turn your head just at the same time he turns his and welcome his lips onto your own, cool and a little chapped, smooth where a scar gets a little too close to his mouth. His hands around your waist move to just under the seat of your pants, lifting you up, the metal of the nearby locker is cold against your back. Your legs wrap around his waist. An echo of the first time, but less desperate.

He settles between your thighs. His tongue settles behind your teeth at your own invitation. He presses more insistently against you, and you groan into his mouth, eyes rolling until they flutter closed again.

Maybe that undershirt needs to come off after all.

Not here though. Too many eyes. If not real ones, mechanical ones, because you don’t trust the government to not install cameras in the Ranger’s locker room – that’s the kind of grotesque breach of privacy they love.

You both pull away, lips wet.

“Are you gonna put your clothes on or are we gonna kiss all day?”

“Kissing all day sounds good.” But he lets you down, gently, and you wobble a little on your feet as he tries to _adjust._ Your clothes are a little rumpled and his hair is all over the place. You laugh at each other a bit before smoothing everything down, presentable again, as if you hadn’t seriously considered, for a second there, getting naked and using the bench as a bed. You exit the locker room with Chen in civilian clothes and you with a pep in your step.

The car ride back to his apartment is – so strange. Chen holds your hand the whole way. Gives it a kiss occasionally, and you laugh about things, old things, new things – just things. It’s romantic and weird and the two of you must both be in good moods because this would have never happened otherwise, the both of you so caught up in so much. Knowing each other’s secrets.

His elation is palpable for you, creating an endless feedback loop. There’s something there, just underneath the surface, that you can’t parse – he won’t let you see it. _Not yet._ _Soon._ Instead of terrifying you, like it should, you get giddy with excitement.

Chen kisses your knuckles when you walk through the door of his apartment.

Spoon greets you with the same kind of enthusiasm he always does, running laps around your legs and trying to lick your ankles to get your attention, and you laugh – honestly, wholly, and Chen looks at you with – _something._ He sweeps you up into his arms and you screech, then devolve into a fit of giggles, kiss him, tangle your fingers in his hair like the two of you are in a cheesy Hallmark commercial. He sets you down on the edge of his bed before he goes to attend to Spoon, who’s whining for a little bit of attention and more than his fair share of food, past his lunch time.

He comes back and toes the door shut with his shirt halfway off because of _course_ he does.

Suddenly you feel overdressed. He kisses a trail up your stomach as it’s bared, helping you tug your layers off like you don’t have tattoos, like you’re not marked, like you’re not a villain.

Pants next, and his head is between your thighs, mouth on you. You gasp, his hands keep you from clamping your legs tightly against his head as he works, running over your skin as though he could feel it, or wants to feel it, commit every scar and blemish and orange mark to memory. He brings you to the brink _quick,_ wiping off his mouth and sitting up, watching you pant and try to piece your head back together. Stars are dancing in front of your eyes and you give him a dopey smile.

_Beautiful._

“You always think that,” you murmur, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. He indulges you.

“Because it’s true.”

“Sure.” He snorts.

_Breathtaking. Gorgeous. Ethereal._

“Alright,” you groan, “quit that.”

“Never.” He scoops you up and rolls both of you over, planting you square in his lap, and you raise a brow. Usually this is not the position he prefers. He likes doing the work for you. There’s a pang of arousal remembering all the times he had you bent over the arm of the couch, hand between your legs, and you hum and reach into his surface thoughts to pull them out of his memory. Because he remembers too.

You grin at the way his face and ears turn bright pink.

“I want to see your face.” He sounds so tender when he says it, reaching up to brush his thumb against your cheek. _Oh._

“Sap,” you say, because you have nothing else to come back with, too busy feeling your heart flutter as you shimmy his boxers down off his thighs, giving him a cursory stroke that makes him groan and his hands squeeze your hips.

Sinking down onto his well-lubricated prick is easy, and you let out a quiet sigh. Hips moving slow, up and down. Chen looks at you like you’re the stars, laying his palm over your chest. Your heart flutters under his cool metal palm and you speed up the pace, your hands planted on the hard plane of his stomach to keep yourself steady, flushed, sweaty, his free hand travels from your hip to between your thighs. You let out a little moan that he bites his lip at.

His hips arch up and you yelp because that – that was _good._

No telepathic nudges this time. You’ll use your words. He deserves that much.

“D-do that again—” He does. No questions asked, and you meet him halfway, faster, the mattress creaking underneath you both.

You come before he does, screwing your eyes shut as your vision goes white, skin wet with sweat and – you’re not going to kid yourself – a little drool. Your body tightens and shivers, and then goes boneless all at once, your forehead resting against Chen – _Wei’s_ – collarbone as you both heave.

“Can I—” You nod to cut him off, and he wraps his arms around your torso, his hips rutting up into you.

“Don’t pull out,” you murmur against his skin, and he groans, faster, until you feel warm. All over. He settles on the mattress, slipping out from between your legs with the quietest huff, and you roll onto your side on top of his chest; head tucked under his chin as you just lay. Bathing in the afterglow.

There’s that same little nudge in his brain. A dam opening.

“Marry me,” he murmurs, and he feels like a car has been lifted off his chest, sharing the feeling with you willingly.

You, however, jolt up so fast that you accidentally headbutt him in the chin.

“ _What?_ ” You gasp out, because it’s suddenly hard to catch your breath. Chen groans and holds his jaw, obviously in a little bit of pain, and if he wasn’t so hard-headed you would feel bad. You repeat yourself. “ _What?”_

“Marry me?”

“Why!” Are you panicking? Maybe. “Why would you ask that!”

“Because I love you?” That’s – incredibly sweet, and you suddenly know why he was acting to strangely. The romance, the broadcasting, the secret keeping; hoarding _that_ thought away until it felt right. Your hand comes up to brush against his face. Looking at him like you’re seeing him for the first time.

“Stupid man,” you murmur, overly fond, “stupid, stupid man. Where on earth do you get these ideas?” He doesn’t answer, just brings his hands up to keep your palm pressed to his cheek. Turns to press a kiss to the heel of your hand. Your throat closes, and your eyes are drawn to the orange.

So much orange. So many scars.

“Why?” You ask again. Your voice cracks. “ _Why?_ ” Chen’s brows furrow. As if he doesn’t understand. He cups your face, tangles your fingers together and _god,_ you want him to stop looking at you like that – as if he hurt you, somehow.

“Because I love you,” he repeats himself, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like you’re human. Real. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Long or short. You, me, Spoon. Dinner on Sundays, maybe another dog if we want one, a cat –”

“But I’m not—”

“ _Sssh,_ hey; look at me.” You do. You do because he’s trying to keep you from falling apart. Unraveling at the idea that Chen, against all warning signs marked in orange across your skin, _loves you so much it hurts._ “I don’t care. About these,” his thumb traces over the thick, slick mark of a tattoo, “or these,” over a scar, “you’re human. Wonderfully, beautifully human, and I love you. So much.” The floodgates are open, rivers running down your cheeks, and he reaches up to oh-so-gently brush them away.

“You don’t have to say yes. You never had to say yes – I’d never pressure you into that.”

“Yes,” you blurt, because you can feel that he’s about to backtrack, underneath the placid layer that he puts up on instinct, not wanting to push, “yes, Wei Chen, you stupid, beautiful, naïve bastard.”

Wei Chen smiles, the happiest man on Earth.


End file.
